


One time at the Herald’s Rest

by Conreeaght



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bullavellan, Drunk Dancing, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, M/M, Party, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 15:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14523642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conreeaght/pseuds/Conreeaght
Summary: This is what happens when you give a mug of mead to Inquisitor Lavellan who doesn't have that strong head. He might dance or kiss someone.





	One time at the Herald’s Rest

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years (literally!) since I wrote anything (and in English for that matter). Please, be gentle with me.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is my personal headcanon that Lavellan lost all his memories in the Fade and couldn't recall his name or his past, and this also affected his magic.  
> Bull calls him Asaar, because asaaranda apparently means ‘thunderstorm’ in Qunlat and as far as I know Sencio is one angry thunderbolt.

All the Chargers went quiet when the Inquisitor himself crossed a threshold of the Herald’s Rest. Even the lively music stopped when he came in.

“Please don’t stop on my account.” Lavellan took few tentative steps. It was a bad idea to come here. He had that inkling of them feeling awkward in his presence. It couldn’t be otherwise. He was sure of that.

“Inquisitor,” Krem regained his voice back first.

Lavellan nodded looking around. The Chargers got into the swing of things possibly from dusk. They’d pushed benches and chairs by the walls. Mugs and goblets piled on tables were swaying dangerously.

“Boss ain’t here,” spoke Krem noticing Inquisitor’s hesitation. “He went to Sister Nightingale with a report. He must’ve overstayed. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

Blush crawled up on Lavellan’s neck. Young lieutenant read him like an open book.

He came here solely because of Bull’s jovial invitation. They travelled together a lot during all their missions, so Lavellan had had many occasions to get to know Bull quite well by now. He wanted to see how he acted among his subordinates, during the party, not the fight.

“Yes. Thank you,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I- I’ll go for something to drink, then.” He waved toward the counter.

Krem turned his back to Inquisitor and went back to his colleagues.

Lavellan breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that bad. He liked Krem, always precise and helpful.

He approached the bar and asked for an ale. He shouldn’t be drinking, and he was painfully aware of that, but he needed something to get up his courage a little bit.

With mug in his hand, Lavellan leant his back against the counter. He watched the Chargers who enjoyed themselves with dancing and drinking. He was jealous of their latitude. He didn’t remember much from before the Conclave. He couldn’t be too different from whom he was now. Always tense. Always aware of his surroundings. Always ready for an unexpected attack. Never free. Never able to open. And always scared of what he could do if he lost control.

He took a few sips of ale and crooked corners of his lips in a tiny smile hiding it behind the mug.

Some of the mercenaries took out instruments from under the benches. The tavern once again filled with a sweet melody of violin and lute. The wild rhythm of drums joined them inviting everyone to dance.

He looked at the merry company, all spinning around in the middle of the tavern, and stamping and clapping to the music. Sometimes he just glanced at the door, but they hadn’t open since he’d come here. Disappointed, he put the empty mug down, and the barman passed him a fresh one.

“From the Chargers,” said the dwarf.

Lavellan accepted the drink with a nod and rose the cup to Krem in a toast. The lieutenant answered with similar gesture and a small smile.

One sip of alcohol made him cough hard. Even the sweetness of the mead couldn’t mask the strength of the dwarven spirit. It burned the back of his throat. He gulped rubbing watery eyes with a sleeve. That’s all he needed right now. To make a fool of himself once again!

The music has changed once again. The familiar rhythm shook Lavellan up. I wasn’t sure from where he knew it, perhaps form the past he couldn’t recall. The melody, wild and free, called to him, mesmerised him.

Light on her feet, Dalish approached him.

“Come. Dance with me, _lethallin_!” she outshouted the hullabaloo of the festivity.

Inquisitor shooked his head. “I’m not sure if—”

“Come on, I can see you know the moves.” Dalish removed the half-empty mug from his hands and tossed it away.

Before Lavellan knew, Dalish dragged him among the other dancers.

He stood there, lost and confused, and jolted by the others. The melody enfolded him and freed something in him, something his heart was yearning for. The scent of bonfires and forest filled his nostrils. Muffled song whispered into his ears, and his bare feet moved on their own in untamed dance.

Dalish was in step with him in all the jolly spins and bounces. They beat up the perfect rhythm with their feet, pirouetting around one another but scarcely touching. No one could keep up with them.

The music stopped for a moment. Panting, Lavellan leant against the wall. He smiled thankfully when someone pushed a goblet into his hands. This time the mead flowed smoothly at his throat and caused pleasant lightness in his head, he hadn’t felt in a long time. He let to be dragged into the dance.

He whirled and whirled. The alcohol buzzed in his head. It sparkled in his veins. But he felt light and free, and all he wanted to do was to dance, here and now.

A few jumps, a few merry swirls. The world spun, and he spun with it. He always has been on his guard. He forgot already how was to be so… Dizziness filled his head. He lost his steps running into someone.  He bounced against a broad, muscular chest.

Huge, burly hands saved Lavellan from the fall. They caught him by his hips firmly and pulled him up.

“I can see you have some fun here, Boss.” Iron Bull put Inquisitor down gently on the floor.

Lavellan blinked.

“Bull,” he mumbled. He slipped his fingers on qunari hands still caressing his sides.

Lavellan towered over most of his companions and advisors, but he always felt tiny around the Bull.

“Sorry for being late.” Bull let him go, moving away from elf’s palms.

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Lavellan spoke lightly. For him, the world had stopped and for Bull evidently not so much. But why not seize the opportunity with everyone around him having fun.

“Care to dance?” he asked. He craned his neck to look in the Bull’s healthy eye like it was a challenge.

“It’s not my kind of thing, you know.” Bull waved his hand. “I’m not as agile as you are.”

Lavellan knitted his brows and, resigned, he stepped backwards. The refusal hurt him more than it should.

As if on cue, the music changed. The rhythm slowed down and deepened.

Inquisitor saw his last chance int that.

“And now?” he extended his hand and offered it to Bull. He wasn’t planning on backing out this time, and the alcohol prompted him to do it.

And then Bull took his hand and pulled Lavellan close to his chest.

“And now’s better.” The big hand rested on the small of Inquisitor’s back. “I heard that Madame Vivianne taught you formal dances for the Winter Palace ball. Want to try one?”

Lavellan pressed his whole body to the Bull’s torso tighter than Vivianne would probably like him to. Qunari must have thought the same because he pulled him even closer.

They executed dew simple dance figures. The Chargers showered them with applause and tipsy whistles.

I might be too much of too strong alcohol or maybe the closeness of Bull, but Lavellan’s head spun again, and hard. He leant against the qunari’s chest and sighed.

“You alright there, Asaar?” asked Bull softly. He let Lavellan go, so he could take a breath.

“I need some fresh air.” Lavellan staggered to the door.

Outside, Skyhold readied to sleep. Guards patrolled the merlons unshaken by the loud music and drunken shouts.

Lavellan rested his head on the wall and pressed his cheek against cool stones.

Crisp, frost-smelling air sobered him up a little, but the courtyard spun before his eyes still.

“Asaar?” The hand fell gently on his arm.

“I like… when you call me that,” mumbled Lavellan focused mostly on keeping himself steady on his legs. They felt like made from wool.

When had Bull started calling him that, he couldn’t recall. But it was better than any formal addressing. He loved having a name once again. He’d lost his old one along his memories in the Fade. All he had was his clan name snatched with Leliana’s and her scout’s utmost effort, but even then he couldn’t remember. He’d lost his connection to what he once was.  But when Bull called him Asaar, he felt… that he belonged to someone, that someone cared about him, not some Herald or Inquisitor. And all he wanted was to connect once again. He wanted to belong to Bull.

“Well then.” He turned to Bull and put his palms on qunari’s chest.

“Well then?”

“Kiss me already,” he said hoarsely when the waiting became unbearable.

Bull didn’t move at all. He stared at Inquisitor seeking any signs of sobriety.

“Seriously” snapped Lavellan and lifted his head. His eyes flickered cat-like in the semi-darkness of the dawn. He waited and waited, but the moment didn’t come.

Bull took Inquisitor’s chin, slowly brushing it with his fingers. He bent over until their foreheads connected.

Lavellan breathed in the air together with the sharp smell of qunari’s body

“What are you afraid of?” he croaked.

“You, Asaar.”

Bull’s painfully honest answer shook him to the core. He didn’t expect to hear something like that. Not after so many battles, they’d fought abreast in. Not when they spent so much time together.

“Creators! And I thought we did clarify the topic of magic and demons already,” he said hurt.

“I  didn’t express myself well. I do afraid you won’t remember me doing this.” Bull drew Lavellan by his chin and pressed a brief but firm kiss on his lips.

Lavellan gasped, yet he parted his lips inviting Bull more in.

Bull’s hot tongue brushed against Inquisitor’s lips and slipped deftly inside.

With a shaking hand, Lavellan slid his fingers over Bull’s chest, his shoulders. He took hold of the qunari, putting both his hands on the nape of his neck, and pulled Bull to next, deeper kiss.

Bull propped his arm on the wall above Inquisitor’s head and pressed him against the stones with his whole body.

“You’re hurting me,” Lavellan hissed against qunari’s lips. Usually, he wouldn’t mind such a rough play, but as for now, he couldn’t catch a breath.

Hearing elf’s protest, Bull let go of his hip and gave him some space.

“Not that I mind,” mumbled Lavellan trying to keep a stiff upper lip just for a little while. His heart pounded, the buzzing in his head was more and more difficult to endure. Was it that crazy, wonderful kiss, or maybe his body disregarded his yearnings and gave up to the alcohol and arousal.

His knees weaken. He grabbed Bull’s arm to not to fall down.

“Asaar?” Bull embraced him tenderly. “Cassandra would kill me if she knew.”

Lavellan felt that he was carried. The warmth emanating from Bull shrouded him.

“And I’m going to kill the person who treated you to seasoned mead,” snarled Bull. “Just a little whi– Asaar? Boss?”

Inquisitor drifted away with his cheek pressed against the Bull’s chest.


End file.
